Condemnation and Complication
by Miss Kisharoo
Summary: They were condemnation and complication. They were two emotions that were often paired with one another, but almost never healthily. / Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 7


_**Quidditch League Competition - Round 7 Entry**_

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**Story Title:** Condemnation and Complication

**Author: **Miss Kisharoo

**Team: **Wigtown Wanderers

**Position: **Captain

**Fic's Word Count: **1,278 words

**Prompt (pairing): **Originally Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, but I was given the character "Perenelle Flamel", and thus the pairing is now Albus/Perenelle, with an inkling (my new favorite word) of memories of Gellert.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

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_A/N: So... I guess you can call this some weird little AU. I kind of went off on my own with this, because I really have no idea who Perenelle is or what her personality is. For once, the Wiki didn't give me much. So I kind of created Perenelle. It certainly wasn't easy. The ideas that I got for her kind of cluttered my head and made writing extremely difficult, but, for how hard I found it, maybe because I was trying to make Perenelle my own, I think I did fairly well. This round also confused me, but I'm kind of happy with what came out. I may have even enjoyed myself, broadening my perspectives like this. So remember, criticism is always enjoyed and taken well by me. Therefore, don't hesitate to review with some! I really hope you enjoy!_

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Her eyes rose from whatever she was working on. With a faint, slightly unusual smile, she fixed her gaze on him—truly for once—and raised her unruly eyebrows. Her strong, deep, yet serene voice rose from the corner. "How do you do, Albus?"

There was something about Perenelle. Some sort of eerie mystery. She was always, in essence, friendly—there was no doubt about that—but she was also, in more than a few ways, indescribable.

Yes, Perenelle intrigued Albus in more than a few ways. There was even a lingering inkling of deep friendship, and maybe understanding, between them, but it was... different. He wanted to discover. He wanted to know _why_ that was.

Albus nodded. "I'm doing well," he answered kindly, a smile lighting on his face. "How about you?"

Perenelle took in a deep breath as though she was about to speak and then, abruptly, quieted once more. Her half-lidded eyes glazed slightly, in time with the tilt of her head. Her short, wavy black hair accommodated to the shift of direction. Stray strands fell onto her forehead.

It was abrupt, sudden. Her eyes moved to Albus's own, locking them, holding the two of them together. Albus shivered when he felt this—an electric shock that pulsated through his body, traveling completely through him within, and sending him shivering until a breath of cold pushed the sensation away.

Perenelle seemed to chortle slightly, but it was such an unusual noise that Albus couldn't tell. Then she waved her pale hand, almost in tranquil dismissal of the question.

A pent-up breath was released from Albus's lungs.

There was always a bit of unease when he was around Perenelle. She was goddess-like in some very imperfect ways. She was wise; she looked at him, if he could even call it _looking_, with those serene gray eyes. It was as though her mind was always on something else. When she spoke, he got the same impression. She was thinking of something other than whatever he, or maybe even anyone else, was offering at that particular moment.

There was always a polite greeting from her and some idle conversation… then Perenelle would gaze at him easily, studying him, watching him, analyzing him. She did it with such tact and intensity that Albus could feel it in his every being—in his bones, against his skin, prickling his hairs. Sometimes she would break the vicing grip by turning her head away, almost stiffly as though she was forcing herself to do so, and then her every being was distant once more.

"Doing well, doing well," Perenelle said at length. Her voice shattered the unbidden reverie that he'd sank into. But even after her voice had shattered it, it also went as far as to drag him forward, taking his full attention. She smiled. "What… did you need?"

"Ah, well." Albus paused for a short moment. His grin returned, as did his normal personality, but he still felt a bit of unease. Perenelle always knew just the way to throw him off, all in a rush of gray eyes. "I was hoping to do a bit of reading, and I know that you have _quite_ the collection, dear Perenelle."

Languidly, she leaned over the dark, polished wooden table where she sat. She looked hunchbacked now, Albus realized. She'd never had the best posture. Perenelle was always slouching as though she was used to looming over whatever she was working on. Now, her eyes glimmered.

"You are correct, of course, Albus." She ran a hand through her hair before using that exact hand to prop herself up. "What sort of book are you looking for?"

"Something… _interesting_," he said. His piercing blue eyes held an inkling of humor. "I go through books far too quickly, and I've read almost everything. I need something different to keep my interest."

Perenelle made that little chortling sound again. Her eyes met Albus's meaningfully. "And you want me to choose _for_ you, Albus?"

Albus's voice seemed to soften in his throat. The unsaid words lingered there for a long moment before he murmured, "You _are_ one of the most interesting people that I know, Perenelle. You're quite the character."

She laughed fully this time. It was a reverberating, long, loud, and incredibly folly laugh. Then it was abruptly squelched when she raised her head again, having thrown it back, and stood. Then she began to walk. Such a normal movement, it was, but Albus couldn't help seeing it as incredible.

He always felt a burning desire to look after her as she walked away, barely in a straight line, her head slightly tilted on its axis as though the weight of what she was pondering made it heavier.

"Here you go." Her voice was quiet now, barely a thin whisper, but he could hear it easily. The melody of her voice still seemed as reverent as it would be if she was speaking loudly. Perenelle's voice just naturally echoed across the room, as it did across every room and across every landscape.

Her gray eyes slid to his again. "Albus," she murmured. "Would you allow it?"

Those words seemed to echo in his ears. He stared into her eyes from across the room.

It was as though she was right in front of him.

But yet...

But yet, for the first time in his life, he felt almost relaxed as he looked at her.

She put him at ease for the first time.

Perhaps it was the tone of her voice, so very soft and real. Or maybe the way that she looked over her shoulder, almost vulnerable, her pale hands closed around a large book, sliding over the intricate leather binding.

For some reason, Albus nodded. He didn't know what she was saying or what she was about to do. He didn't even know why. He didn't know why she never seemed to listen to him, or why she always seemed distracted. He didn't know why he cared. He didn't know why he felt—_acted_—different around her.

"Albus, there's something that I enjoy. I enjoy it greatly."

He felt like a mouse caught in a trap.

"I'm an artist. You send my fingers to tingling. You send me away into my room to draw."

He couldn't breathe.

"I draw you often. Your face... sends the artist raving within me."

His heart was pounding.

"_Now_, Albus. I'm asking for permission now."

His eyes widened. Sweat slid down his cheek.

"Albus. Allow me, please. Allow me to draw you today and every day."

He was a mouse caught in the murky eyes of a snake. That snake, the epitome of love, might just bite him like last time. Would he learn his lessons and run?

She took his hand and squeezed it. Her other hand slid to his cheek, feeling the contours, the sweat.

Albus closed his eyes. There was a deep pain within him, a pain that made it seem like everything was unlocked and everything was understood. Yet again, he was falling into it. Something that could be a trap. Something that probably _was_ a trap.

Maybe not. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was just...

_Never. Never again, Albus. Never._

The next time he looked into her eyes, years later, he saw a shade of condemnation, betrayal, sadness.

In his own eyes, there was only complication. A tumult of emotions that wrestled over one another, sending his own hand to twitching with longing.

They were condemnation and complication.

They were two emotions that were often paired with one another, but almost never healthily.

Still, he wondered if she continued to draw him.


End file.
